


Letters never written.

by RedStarFiction



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:00:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedStarFiction/pseuds/RedStarFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fluff piece based on a prompt I received. Thank you so much for reading.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters never written.

1752

It canna be described as a romance, in truth I dinna ken what it is between us. A kinship of the soul perhaps? Is that too flowery for ye, Sassenach? Aye, most likely. Ye always were a practical woman.  
To some it branded ye a witch, a temptress and worse but ne’er to me. I think the closest I could say is perhaps ye may be an auld one, a soul out of time and wiser in the ways of man than any priest or scholar. I ken that because ye held my soul in ye hand and ye didna crush it, ye repaired it. Ye knitted it together and made it whole, just as ye did wi’ my body and gave me the strength and the will to keep breathin’ when I felt I wished to stop.  
Ye are certainly far wiser than ye fool of a husband, sittin’ on his arse in a damp cave composin’ letters in his head that canna write for want of paper and canna send because where ye are no wee bit o’ parchment can follow an weepin’ like some great clot heid.  
Where is it that ye are Sassenach?  
Do ye still heal? Ye have a rare gift in it, I hope ye do.  
What colour eyes does our son have?  
Do ye still wear my ring?  
I miss ye and I love ye, my Sassenach. It hasna changed, this thing between us. I am still yours and only yours as ye will always be mine. J.

*******  
1955

What was it between us Jamie? Romance is too feeble, the stuff of children’s stories and school girl crushes. I think the only word I have for it is ‘love’. I never used to value that word enough and now I cling to it and to your memory like … I don’t know. You were always the romantic of the two of us; theatrical and vibrant in your speech whilst I am plain and clear. You were the born story teller, not me. You should be the one able to tell our daughter bedtime stories and to tell her of her mother because you would bring me to life in a way that I cannot do with you. What could I ever whisper to our child to convey the heart of you?  
I can’t express to her how you held my truth in your hands and cradled it for me, keeping it safe and shielding me with your love when I was too battered and confused to understand it all. You knew exactly what to do for me Jamie, which is more than I can say! Here I am leaning against a coffee table, my head in my hands sobbing like a cretin composing a letter I cannot write because the words would look too small and cannot send because you are … you are gone.  
There is so much I wish for you to know!  
We live in Boston, America - I know you would have preferred Brianna to be raised in Scotland but she goes to a good school, a catholic school, and I have work in a hospital which is something.  
I am training to become a surgeon now; I heal with a knife if you can credit it!  
Our daughter has your eyes exactly; I lose myself in them sometimes. She is so very like you Jamie.  
I never removed your ring; I will never stop wearing it. When I cradled Bree, when I nursed her and sooth her scraped knees, I do so wearing your ring and it is like you are with us.  
I miss you Jamie. I still love you, I will always love you, just as fiercely as I ever did. I am still yours and only yours as you will always be mine. C.


End file.
